


When I Kissed the Teacher

by hufflepuffdaddy



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Teacher-Student Relationship, i know this is problematic get off my dick, ryan is his student, shane is a teacher, this is a hard teen or a soft mature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 15:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15888699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hufflepuffdaddy/pseuds/hufflepuffdaddy
Summary: One of these daysGonna tell him I dream of him every nightOne of these daysGonna show him I care, gonna teach him a lesson alright-or-Ryan has the hots for his professor.Shane has the hots for his student.





	When I Kissed the Teacher

Shane sat at his desk, bright and early on a Tuesday morning, ready for his red-eye class of the year. His long fingers twiddled the buttons on his shirt as he spun around in his chair, mulling over source material and syllabi in his head. He was pulled from his trance as the door opened and the first few students came looking nervously into his lecture hall. Smiling, he gestured for them to come and resumed his spinning.

A few minutes later, it was time for his class. He straightened up, stood, and twisted his trunk, resulting in an enormous series of cracks that resounded through the quiet buzz of students. All eyes were on him, suddenly, and he picked up his roster and started calling out names. Starting from the Z’s and working his way up, it seemed every student was here.

“Bergara, Ryan?”

No response.

He tried again. “Bergara, Ryan?”

Nothing, save for a cough from the back left corner.

Sighing, he marked this Ryan person absent and continued through the A’s.

“Alright, kids, take one and pass it down. If you lose this, there will only be one more chance to pick up another one. This syllabus I’m handing out is your key to passing my class, and as much as I’m sure you’re all lovely, I never want to see you again after this class is over.” This earned him a few snickers; bolstered, he resumed his little speech.

“My name is Professor Madej, and I teach this class that you are in currently, Advanced Film and Photoshop. If this is not the class that you signed up for, I suggest you leave. I do not generally tolerate laziness, tardiness, and disrespect. You’ve worked hard to reach my class, and I hope that that is demonstrated in both your work and your attitudes. Late work is very, very rarely accepted. Unless you have a life-threatening illness or someone in your family has died, I expect it in my mailbox or on my desk on the date it is due.”

He took a breath, pacing, and was interrupted by the clanging of his classroom door. Shane looked up and made eye contact with the student who had just come in; he was frozen at the top of the stairs, caught, like a deer in headlights.

“And you are?”

The student’s mouth dropped open and he floundered for a moment before stammering, “R-Ryan Bergara, sir.”

“And you are late for what reason, exactly?”

He scratched the back of his neck and cast his eyes downward. “I, uh, overslept?”

“Hm.” Shane nodded his head and motioned for Ryan to come down the stairs. “You overslept?”

By now Ryan was halfway down and he stopped again, pulling at the collar of his ratty tee like a cartoon character.

“Did you have a bit of a wild night?” Shane asked. The entire hall was silent, its occupants hanging on every word of the exchange.

Ryan looked up. “I-I’m sorry, sir?”

“Well, Mr. Bergara, you’ve got quite the hickey on your neck, and when you pulled on your shirt, you exposed two more. Your hair is ruffled, your eyes are tired, and yet your body is relaxed in the way that someone who is late to a very important class’s body generally is not.” Ryan flushed, and a titter was heard from the same back left corner.

“So, I repeat: did your or did you not have a wild night?”

“I, ah, I, yes, sir.” His voice quieted on the end of the question.

“Take your seat, Mr. Bergara.” Shane turned to the chalkboard and crossed his hands behind his back. “As I was explaining before you so rudely interrupted, I detest tardiness, laziness, and late work. I expect the utmost respect and quality of work from my students. Get a syllabus from Mr. Lim, there, next to you. It will be your lifeline, especially if you continue your current trend of flagrancy toward this class.”

Feeling like Ryan had had enough of a lashing, he turned back around and began his class.

* * *

Ryan was racing through the halls of the arts building, skidding around corners as he flew towards the digital media wing. The boy he’d left in his bed was just some jock he’d found at a frat party the night before; a one-night stand with an awful lot of no-homo bullshit stacked on top. Finally, he approached Professor Madej’s door. He had heard stories from older friends and fucks who had taken this class—the man was ruthless. A no-nonsense, straight-laced, uppity asshole. Having heard all of this, though, he had never actually met the guy. Some of the students deemed unworthy by the professor talked loudly about how the cocksucker never left his classroom and _never_ had anything nice to say.

So, basically, Ryan was fucked.

He was tardy on the first day of class. Opening the door as silently as he could, he crept in and managed to get most of the way in while Professor Madej was still engrossed in his start-of-the-year “I’m a hard-ass” speech. He was thanking his lucky stars and turning towards the aisle when it happened; the door slipped form his hands and swung shut with finality, sending out a bang that reverberated out from his current position.

“And you are?”

He turned, ashamed, ready to apologize to the crotchety old geezer he had been expecting. He thought there would be gray hair, gross glasses, and old man smell—instead he got a young guy that really didn’t look much older than he did.

“R-Ryan Bergara, sir.”

Those students had talked about how much of an ass this guy was, but apparently had failed to mention he was fucking _hot_. His hair was fluffy and disheveled, a stark contrast to the cleanly pressed lines of his suit. His scruff was just long enough to give him the illusion of ruggedness while still maintaining an air of professionalism, and Ryan’s stomach just about fell out of his ass. In all his drooling over his professor, he didn’t even notice the object of his affections was speaking to him.

“And you are late for what reason, exactly?”

_Because I got fucked within an inch of my life last night._

“I, uh, overslept?”

“Hm… You overslept.” He paused, back still to Ryan, who was making his way to where he majority of students were seated. “Did you have a bit of a wild night?”

Cheeks and neck flushing, he stopped cold in his tracks. “I-I’m sorry, sir?” he said, voice warbling the tiniest amount, suddenly viciously aware of the hickeys that covered his neck and torso.

“Well, Mr. Bergara, you’ve got quite the hickey on your neck, and when you pulled on your shirt, you exposed two more. Your hair is ruffled, your eyes are tired, and yet your body is relaxed in the way that someone who is late to a very important class’s body generally is not.” Ryan heard a giggle from the back and shot what he hoped was a death glare in that general direction.

“So, I repeat: did your or did you not have a wild night?”

“I, ah, I, yes, sir.”

Great. Now his hot prof knew him as a late _and_ slutty prick.

* * *

 

 _For all his lateness_ , Shane thought blearily as he graded papers late at night, _Mr. Bergara seems to be quite a good student._

It was only the second week of class and he had already assigned an essay. He knew he was pushing his students too hard and maybe even being a bit of a prick, but he felt it was necessary. With the growing relevancy of digital content in the modern age, expecting nothing but the best was bound to prepare them for the demanding nature of the real world. All the essays he’d graded so far were below par, full of discrepancies, contradictions, and conventions mistakes.

_You’re a fucking college student! How have you not learned how to use homophones yet?!_

Ryan’s paper, however, was different. None of the above flaws were anywhere in his paper; it was the easiest time Shane had had all night. He combed through every inch of every essay carefully, pouring every ounce of constructive criticism he could into making his students into the best they could be. They had to know how to write an essay before they could write a script or produce a video, right?

Being so hard on his pupils also had the added advantage of weeding out the ones who didn’t feel they could deal with his level of rigor. They almost always quit within the first week or so; he’d lost two already. _If they can’t handle a fucking college class, how can they handle a professional setting?_

So, all in all, he was happy with Mr. Bergara so far. Besides his singular tardy, his class record was practically perfect. If it weren’t for Shane’s extreme adversity to favoritism, he would tout Ryan as the model student and hope that all others would strive to reach his level.

Even if he wouldn’t do that outside his own head, it didn’t matter.

* * *

 

Alright, maybe he spoke too soon.

It was the third week, just Wednesday, and it was Ryan’s third time being late. It was nearly fifteen minutes into Shane’s lecture about the blur tool before he came tumbling into the room. He was coming so fast he didn’t have time to stop before the door burst open and Ryan came through, momentum not slowing, sending him tumbling end over end down the stairs in the aisle.

Finally coming to a stop at the bottom, Ryan lay there, the picture of a hot mess; he had lost most of the contents of his backpack on the way down, his hair was disheveled, his clothes askew. Most of the classroom was enveloped in raucous laughter as Shane approached the groaning mass that lay in a crumpled heap.

He raised his hand silently and immediately the laughter ceased.

“Mr. Bergara,” he spoke softly, with just a hint of disappointment giving his deep voice a bit of a lilt, “this is the third time you have ben late this week.” He folded his hands behind his back and looked over top of his glasses at Ryan, who was righting himself and beginning to pick up the various highlighters, pens, notebooks, and other school paraphernalia that had been scattered about.

He froze in the middle of bending to pick up a folder when he heard Shane’s voice and turned to face him, eyes downcast. “Yes, sir.” It was then that Shane realized that he had numerous fresh hickeys littering his neck and chest, the latter exposed by a wrinkled button-down that was halfway and haphazardly buttoned. Shane’s eye twitched at both the hickeys (he ignored it, choosing to think about _that_ particular issue later) and the uneven button job.

“Fix the buttons on your shirt and see me after class please,” he finished, hoping that the disappointment now fully apparent in his tone did most of the chiding for him.

“Now.” he said, turning back to the pull-down display and his PowerPoint. “Where were we?”

Later that day, Shane was sitting in his office, just a few minutes after his last class of the day had dismissed, rubbing his tired eyes and contemplating dinner.

It was the that he heard a knock on his doorframe, and as he turned around in his chair, he griped to himself about _all these fucking students always needing help with this, that, or the other._

He hoped it wasn’t one of the overachievers he had, arguing a half-point deduction on a submitted image. Turned out he was wrong, because it was Ryan Bergara who had poked his head into Shane’s office. His hair was, as always, deliciously messy, and his bicep bulged as his bent arm gripped the door.

“Professor Madej? Are you busy?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Can we talk for a moment, then, sir?” he asked as he slowly moved more and more of his body out from behind the wall.

“Of course, come in. Have a seat.” Shane stood and gestured to the cheap chair that the university had supplied him with for meetings such as these. Ryan came in and sat down timidly, his bulging backpack resting next to his knee, hands folded prettily in his lap.

 _Oh, Christ, the picture of beauty,_ Shane thought, tilting his head and continuing to look at Ryan, who just sat there, uncomfortable under the weight of his professor’s gaze.

Ryan cleared his throat and began, “Professor, I’m very sorry for being late so many times. I do not in any way mean to disrespect you or this class, because it means so much to me that you would even accept me.”

Shane sat in his own chair, tenting his fingers. “I appreciate your apology, Mr. Bergara. Plus, there really wasn’t any way I could have rejected you.”

Now it was Ryan’s turn to tilt his head. “Sir?”

“Your work was already quite polished and clean, so, it would have been a disservice to you and to me that I reject you. It was a wonderful opportunity to teach such a good student.” Ryan flushed under the praise, the pink going from the tips of his ears to under the collar of his shirt. Suddenly, Shane thought about whether he would blush the same way in another, _less formal_ , situation. He quickly shook his head to rid himself of the thought.

“Thank you, sir. That means a lot. I will try my best to come to class on time.”

“Well, Mr. Bergara,” Shane said wryly, a small smirk on his face. “Perhaps, since the class is at different times each day, you should only have your rendezvouses on the days where it is later in the day.”

The blush deepened. “S-Sir?”

“Well, to put it frankly, Mr. Bergara, each time you are late to my class, you come covered in hickeys with your hair disheveled, both classic signs of a wild night with a wilder partner. I am suggesting that you only have sex on the nights where my class is not so early in the morning.”

“Oh, um, o-okay. I understand. Thank you for time,” he whispered quickly, picking up his bag and rushing out of the office.

_Great. Now I’ve ruined any chance I had with him._

* * *

 

_Holy shit._

_Holy. Fucking. Shit._

“Did he really just fucking say that to me?” Ryan wondered aloud as he sped through the hallways, trying his darnedest to leave the building and get Professor Madej as far away from him as possible.

Ryan knew he was a bit of a slut, sleeping with almost anyone, but to hear it from the mouth of his superior, someone he looked up to and respected—that hurt. He usually owned his campus-wide status as an easy lay, only because he knew he was good at it. That and, well, it _is_ 2018, and sex positivity is in.

Unexpected tears pricked at the corners of Ryan’s eyes as he struggled with the door to his dorm. He ditched his backpack on his way in and threw himself into the mound of pillows he’d brought with him freshman year and never took home.

He thanked his lucky stars that his roommate was out and about; he couldn’t bear seeing another human being until he had collected himself. Not time for that, though—now was the time for a gay-crisis-induced, "I’m-a-man-whore-and-now-I’m-sad” meltdown.

He hugged a pillow to his chest and let silent tears fall onto the sheets. This wasn’t the most dramatic meltdown he’d had in this bed; he thought back to freshman year, his first time being drunk on campus.

He had gone out to a frat party with his roommate, the same one he had now, and had gotten absolutely _sloshed_. Piss-drunk. Fall-over-laying-down, “I-don’t-know-what-time-it-is-but-I-want-another-drink” kind of drunk.

As he was being pulled forcefully home by his friends, he began to think of what his mother would say if she could see him now, and he lost it. He cried so much his shirt was soaked and there was snot running down his face. This debacle continued up the elevator and into the room, and when his roommate had shoved him ungracefully onto his bed, it only made him cry harder.

He was an emotional drunk.

Giggling at his past antics had made him feel slightly better, which allowed his emotionally exhausted brain to think clearly again.

_If my hot professor thinks I’m easy, why not mess with him about it?_

He had thought he’d imagined the way Shane’s eyes lingered on him every once in a while, how his papers were graded just a little less harsh than everyone else’s. the last time he was late to class, he had been bent at the waist, picking up his school supplies after his mighty fall; when he looked up, he had thought he detected a slight blush on his professor’s face. Choosing to ignore it at the time in favor of being embarrassed by his tardiness and clumsiness, now it was a tool he could use to his advantage.

He fell asleep that night dreaming of beards and long, spindly fingers he knew could make him feel so good if maybe he played his cards just right.

And if he woke up with a damp spot on the jeans he’d fallen asleep in, nobody had to know—except maybe Professor Madej.

* * *

 

It was the next afternoon, and Shane and Ryan had had completely different mornings.

Shane had spent the better part of his wondering about how his student would look at him differently when he came into class, if he would start underperforming on his assignments. He had laid in bed for an hour, fiddling mindlessly on his phone and letting himself overanalyze Ryan’s reaction to his earlier statement.

_I basically called him a fucking whore to his face._

He realized that eventually, he was going to have to get up and be productive, so he just buried himself in his work, purposely avoiding Ryan’s assignments.

Ryan, however, woke up in a great mood.

He had laid in bed thinking up all the devious ways he could wind up his professor.

He had finally settled on a casual start to his long-term plan; pencil biting, maybe a few sultry looks here and there.

Ryan knew that the first step to seducing anyone, let alone a teacher, was to look and feel good. He showered, shaved, and put on a nicer outfit. He knew it was just sweats and a tee, but the pants made his ass _and_ his dick look good, and the added appeal of his strong biceps in the tight tee couldn’t hurt.

He gelled his hair and even added a touch of cologne for good measure before practically strutting to his class. He had made a promise to his professor that he wouldn’t be late, and by God, Ryan Bergara never broke a promise.

Finding his usual seat five minutes before class started, he looked up, only to catch his teacher ogling him a little, before both looked away. Ryan had a smirk on his face, and he was willing to bet that Professor Madej had a touch of color painted on the apples of his cheeks.

 _Gotcha_ , he thought, a mischievous smile adorning his pretty face.

Throughout the class, he made a big show of eyeing his teacher up and down whenever he looked his way. He let his legs spread farther than he normally would, causing his professor to swallow heavily when he turned to answer Ryan’s question. Sure, his throat could just have been dry, but Ryan doubted it.

As he continued his slow takedown over the course of the semester, the other students began to catch on.

“Do you have the hots for Professor Madej?”

“Does Madej have the hots for _you_?”

“Quit eye-fucking the prof, dude. We have to get this project done.”

On Shane’s end, things were a lot different. He heard whispers form his students and even a few colleagues, but nothing so blatant. He was glad of it, though, because then he didn’t have to lie. Ryan was driving him up to goddamned wall.

His eyes were always innocent, mischievous, or hungry, and sometimes a gut-churning mix of all three. The expressions on his handsome face always had an ulterior motive or two, and although Shane was preening a little over the attention, he couldn’t _do_ anything about it.

Teacher-student relations weren’t illegal, per se, nor were they forbidden on campus, but they might as well be for the reactions they garnered. He reminisced on his second year teaching, back when a professor of engineering had been caught fucking her student in her office. The two had maintained secrecy for months, until someone came to the office unexpectedly and found the two laid out. The teacher quit after a few months of being a pariah inside faculty circles, but the identity of the student was never released. Everyone knew it was a female, and speculations and rumors on who it was were flying about campus for the next six months.

Shane had never really sought out a relationship of that sort, had never really thought about it before; he had found some of his students vaguely attractive from time to time, but had never had the urge to act on those feelings. Even taking all those feelings into consideration, that debacle had turned him off from his students for good.

But this was different.

Ryan had taken his inhibitions and thrown them out the window, leaving him to fantasize about a relationship with the 21-year-old. He did think about, ah, _other_ things regarding Ryan, but those best remain unsaid.

He was a single guy who had someone who seemed legitimately interested in him for the first time in a while, so sue him if he was a little excited.

* * *

 

Ryan awoke on a Saturday from a dream filled with his professor and decided it was time to stop fucking around. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right, and doing it right included no more pussyfooting about.

He got up out of bed, determined to do something about this thing he had going on, though not entirely sure what, and put on the nicest outfit he could without seeming like he was trying too hard. He put on a Henley that he was sure made his arms and back look delicious and paired it with jeans that looked positively painted on. Topping it all off with his “I’m-getting-laid-tonight” sneakers, Ryan made his way down the stairs and started the walk to the arts building.

Thinking about his teacher or any part of that class would cause him to overthink things and wimp out of whatever he was about to do. He still hadn’t decided what that was, even by the time he was approaching the doors to the lecture hall, because he felt that romance, however unreciprocated, should be spur-of-the-moment for the most part. Sure, he enjoyed a nice candlelit dinner with rose petals on the bed as much as the next guy, but to him, it was so much better if someone gave him something or did something spontaneously because they were just thinking about him. To occupy someone’s thoughts in the way that Shane had pervaded his in the last few months was Ryan’s goal in a relationship, and even if Professor Madej told him to fuck off and die, he could still say he was spontaneous about it.

He regarded himself as more of a Bill Anderson than a Harry Bright, but really, who cares? They were both pretty damned hot. He shook his head as the comparation came to the forefront of his thoughts, scoffing that as a film and digital arts major, he had watched—nay, _enjoyed_ such a film as _Mamma Mia!_

 _Still_ , he mused as he situated himself in his seat, trying to clear his mind of the upcoming interactions with his professor, _it is good for everyone to occasionally enjoy a cheesy movie-musical. I shouldn’t get down on myself for liking it._

 _Oh god_ , he thought as he rubbed his hand down his face and sighed, _now I’m psychoanalyzing myself over fucking_ Mamma Mia! _This is a wonderful start to the day._

At that moment, Professor Madej walked in and all thoughts of ABBA-inspired movie-musicals vanished from his mind. He had chosen that day to wear literally the _most_ stereotypical college professor’s outfit in the world—a white button down, khaki slacks, a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches. As he walked out from behind his desk, Ryan took notice of his brown horse-bit loafers (seriously, professor?) and his maroon sweater-vest ( _seriously_ , professor?).

This could not have been more perfect if it were in a pulp novel.

Professor Madej began his class as usual by walking to the back of the room by the projector, accompanied by his briefcase (which, as it happened, matched his shoes) and his laser pointer. As he passed by Ryan’s seat about halfway up, he didn’t so much as glance at him.

 _Is he fucking kidding?_ Ryan thought incredulously, trying and failing to hide his distaste on his face. Not that he considered himself vain or anything, but he had put effort into his look today, and even a glance would have been much appreciated. He turned around in his seat to watch his teacher pass, and noticed, to his dismay, that Shane’s ass looked fucking spectacular in those pants. He faced the front again with a huff and decided that he deserved attention. If he didn’t get it the positive way, then so be it—negative attention was attention nonetheless.

That class was the most disrespectful class of his entire academic career, and it wasn’t even that bad. Though, he knew that Madej was a stickler for respect and rule-following in his classroom. On the first day of school, he’d made that clear. He’d made it even clearer when, the following week, he kicked a student out of class in front of everyone for sleeping. He’d practically shoved that student out into the hallway, throwing her bag out behind her and telling her, “If you’re not going to respect this class or this professor, don’t bother coming back.”

So, really, with that incident at the forefront of his brain, he was as disrespectful as he could be without getting permanently removed. He put his feet up on the seat in front of him, checked his watch every five minutes, grumbled snarky responses to near everything that came out of his professor’s mouth, and even went so far as to take his phone out and scroll through Instagram for about thirty seconds (before his honor-student brain started flipping out and he had to put it away).

Even with all his antics, Shane never wavered from his lecture. _Motherfucker_ , Ryan thought dejectedly.

As the lights came on at the end of his lecture, Shane gave his customary, “Okay, class, that’s all for today.” But this time, there was a sentence tacked onto the end that made Ryan shiver in his Jordans.

“And Mr. Bergara, see me in my office after everyone has left.”

Th flow of exiting students had slowed to a trickle as Ryan finally began packing up his things to walk to Professor Madej’s office. He sat there jiggling his foot as the last student vacated the lecture hall before standing up on shaky legs to make his way up the stairs and down the hall.

It seemed every part of his body was vibrating with nerves as he knocked twice on the door.

“Come in, Mr. Bergara.”

_How does he know it’s me?_

Pushing open the frosted glass door to reveal his professor at his desk, Ryan entered the office. Shane gestured for him to sit with a dismissive wave of his hands as he closed out of whatever files he had had open on his monitor. “P-Professor?” Ryan began, before being interrupted as Shane began to stand.

“No,” he held up a large hand. “Don’t ‘p-professor’ me, Bergara.” His stare was cruel as he derisively mocked Ryan’s nervous stutter. “You come into this class the first day, one of the most promising students on my roster, only to disappoint me in the following weeks by showing up late consistently with no less than _eight_ hickeys on your neck each time.”

“But, professor, I—”

“No, Ryan. You will listen to me now. You come into my office, after hours, apologizing with what I thought was sincerity for your actions. I accepted this and let it be. You seemed to clean up your act and were not late nor disrespectful in my class again—until today. The level of disrespect I received from you today was ridiculous. Do you care to explain yourself?”

Ryan’s eyes were blown wide, shiny with tears; as his brain fumbled for a justification for his actions and his mouth gaped open and closed like a fish, Shane came from behind Ryan where he had been circling him.

“I said,” he leaned in and over Ryan, placing his hands on the armrests of the wooden chair, “do you care to explain yourself?”

 _Spontaneous_ , Ryan thought. Or, rather, he didn’t think. He simply released his hands from his thighs and surged upwards, catching Professor Madej’s surprised mouth in a kiss. He grabbed the sides of Shane’s face and tilted his head right as he realized, _Oh, fuck_.

He jumped back like he’d been burned, a quick one-eighty from the person who had been ready to shove his tongue down his professor’s— _oh,_ God _, my professor’s_ —throat. He began a babbling explanation full of _oh, God_ s and _I’m sorry_ s before he realized Shane had sat back against his desk and crossed his arms. His out of control train of thoughts was brought to a screeching halt when Shane whispered, “Ryan.”

Professor Madej had never used his first name before. He had thought he didn’t even know it. He looked up from where he’d been wringing his hands in his lap to his professor, who was smiling—wait, what?

Madej was _smiling_?

“P-professor?”

This time there was no mocking from his professor as he said, “Please, call me Shane.”

**Author's Note:**

> listen i know this is problematic okay  
> that really wasnt my intention, i just like the song


End file.
